


Music Of Life

by AyumiFallassion



Category: Gackt (Musician) - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Music, Oh My God, Smoking, Well I guess it still does, Wings, but I never named him, does it still count?, gackt - Freeform, hidden words, hugs are needed, my mind is disturbed, no really, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyumiFallassion/pseuds/AyumiFallassion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting as a personal challenge, I had to pick a song and write what the lyrics were inspiring. But for some reason, my first dozen songs or so were all from the various GACKT CDs. Each song title has been worked in, good luck figuring it out. </p>
<p>Hope you enjoy. I'm considering posting this to Amazon later if I get enough positive feedback, as well as at least another few dozen short stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I think I can say that this so the first time I've written something without fantasy elements. Harder than I thought it would be.

Wings

* * *

 

Bright as the setting sun was, the ember of the cigarette in his hand glowed brighter as he took a long drag. the young man sighed after a moment, the smoke arching away in the light breeze as he stared out over the waves, considering his choices over the next few minutes. He had lived a long and painful life in his short twenty odd years, and that life was reflected in the scars and tattoos that danced over pale skin. The final rays of the sun made him seem to glow, and the tattoos on his back and shoulder blades danced as he arched his skin, working a crick out.

 

In those markings, he carried so much pain, the once happy memories corrupted from the years. Light brown eyes slid closed as he drifted from memory to memory of the past. He had grown up in this area, an innocent boy playing chicken with the rocky cliff he was sitting on at the moment. One of his friends growing up had been a girl his age from the village, and one of her favorite games had involved flight. His mother had lost track how many times that summer he had come home, laughter on his lips and muddy wings painted on the back of his shirt.

 

Regretfully, those long summer days had to come to an end. School was the eternal bane of children everywhere, but the by had looked forward to it, as long as he could continue to to laugh and play with his friend. But not everyone gets a happy ending. The blast of the steam whistled from the distant ships that left from the nearby port still made him nostalgic. She had been forced to move away that fall, across the sea. That was the end of the games of flight.

 

Descent into depression soon came after, though happier memories of the past helped him claw his way back out quickly enough. But as soon as he was able to obtain a fake ID, and as soon as he was tall enough to pull it off, those childhood wings were etched into his skin.

 

Childhood memories are sweet and all, but in the real world, they don't count for much. Dropping out of high school in order to chase his friend across the sea, it was inevitable that he would fall into bad company. But even as he dodged knife fights and territorial disputes between the gangs, he searched for the young woman he refused to forget. Finally finding her after so many years was bittersweet. She had found him, during another gang fight.

 

Angels do not die. At least, they shouldn't die, the young man thought, flicking his cigarette into the sea below. But dreams of flight and wings of ink do not protect against the cold iron kiss of blade or bullet. Her shirt had been shredded in the back by the end, and he had been able to see her own wings of ink. She had remembered him as much as he had remembered her, cold comfort that it was as she died cold and scared in his arms.

 

Granting her final wish had been simple enough. Her ashes were taken back to their old home and buried under a hydrangea they had planted that summer so long ago. Her parents back in the city had thanked him as they passed him the little pine box, never knowing his plans as soon as he took care of his friend for the last and only time.

 

Embracing the last few rays of warm sunlight, the young man tilted his head back as he stood, arms outstretched as if to soak in those last few tiny rays. He breathed, once, twice, before leaning forward. The wind ran fingers though his hair, and he could have sworn he felt arms wrapping around him as he fell, eyes closed as the rocks came closer and closer.

 

Giving the world one last smile, he flew, memories of laughter still ringing in his ears to the last.


End file.
